


Imprisoned

by hailingstars



Series: Febuwhump [7]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Febuwhump, Fluff, Homework, I Don't Even Know, Little plot, Peter Parker has ADHD, Tony helps with homework, Tony is the Best Dad, Wrongful Imprisonment, because
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 01:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17695376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: Homework is a prison.And it turns into a literal prison when Tony decides the best way to force Peter to do his homework is to lock him in his bedroom until it's finished.





	Imprisoned

**Author's Note:**

> This is day seven Imprisonment, and a rainy Thursday, and my brain is shutting down. Here's some minimum suffering but mostly just more fluff!!

“This isn’t fair,” said Peter. 

He was being marched down the hallway of the penthouse. Mr. Stark had one hand on Peter’s shoulder, and the another clasped around the strap of his bookbag. He carried it with them because Peter refused to carry it himself. He wouldn’t dig his own grave. 

“This is… cruel and unusual punishment.” 

They both came to a stop outside of Peter’s bedroom. He’d been thrilled about having one at Mr. Stark’s penthouse at first, when him and May decided he’d spend some weekends over there, and normally he loved Mr. Stark weekends. They were spent down in the workshop, upgrading his suit, or in the private theater, where him and Mr. Stark took turns showing each other their favorite movies. 

There wouldn’t be any of that this weekend, though. Mr. Stark seemed to be determined to ruin everything that was ever magic about their every other weekend together. 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” said Mr. Stark. He gave him a shove inside his bedroom and tried to hand him his bag. Peter didn’t take it, so instead, it got dropped on the floor by his feet. “You did this to yourself.” 

“This is false imprisonment.” 

“Peter,” said Mr. Stark. “Read the book, write the essay, and then you can come out.” 

“But,” he started. “It’s not even due until Monday, I have three days.”

“Uh, no. It was due today and your teacher decided to give you a pass.” 

“What? How did you – “

“I get CCd in to all the emails,” said Mr. Stark, and before Peter could react, before he could reflect on how truly terrifying it was to have him involved with parent teacher emails, the door slammed in his face and he was locked inside. 

He looked around his penthouse bedroom. It was the most fancy prison, but it was still a prison. For a few minutes, he stood by the door and waited. He gave Mr. Stark adequate time to leave the floor, then tried turning the doorknob. He needed to know for sure, even if he was completely destroyed when the door wouldn’t budge. 

Peter sighed and stomped across his bedroom. Leave it to Mr. Stark to actually lock him in his bedroom. Sometimes, like right then, he thought him and May took this co-parenting thing a bit too far. He would have to convince Ned to hack into the school and get Mr. Stark’s email off the list. He saw this development ruining more than one of his weekends. 

Since his phone had been confiscated, and there was literally nothing else for him to do, he pulled that book, the one he now hated, from his bag. He grabbed his laptop, too, and opened it with every intention of taking notes, but instead, he started installing updates. He’d been ignoring them for way too long, and he couldn’t really read the book if he didn’t have anything to take notes on, so he decided he’d start once the updates were finished. 

He laid flat on his bed, stared straight up at the ceiling and started counting the lines. That clearly was a much better use of his time. 

*

Peter thanked the gods or the universe or whatever for blessing him with super-hearing. Mr. Stark’s footsteps clunking down the hall gave him just enough time to resume position. He flailed around on his bed, grabbed the book and opened to a page, any page, it didn’t matter which one. He hadn’t started reading it yet. 

When the door creaked open, Peter lifted his head above the book and pretended to be surprised at the sight of Mr. Stark carrying a tray of food. His dinner, he guessed. 

“Oh look,” said Peter. “It’s the warden with my rations.” 

“Yeah,” said Mr. Stark. He put the tray down on his desk, and Peter sat up. “And he’s looking for a progress report. What page are you on?” 

“Uh – “

“FRIDAY?”

“Peter is on the title page.” 

Mr. Stark gave him a dead look. “Seriously, kid? It’s been three hours.”

“I can’t concentrate,” he told him. “Maybe if I could just go outside, and get some fresh air – “

He trailed off after reading Mr. Stark’s expression. There was no point in continuing. The look on his face said it all. He left Peter to eat his dinner and suffer in the silence by himself. That was the worst part of this whole situation. Peter wasn’t sure how much longer he could take the isolation. 

*

The next time Mr. Stark barged into his room to check on him, Peter didn’t bother pretending. He was lying flat on his bed again, but this time, he was throwing a ball up and down in the air. He threw it in the air one last time as the door flew open and Mr. Stark came in, except this time instead of catching it, it hit him on the top of the head. 

Mr. Stark offered nothing but a long, exaggerated sigh as he rubbed his temple and stocked across the room. He sat at the end of Peter’s bed. 

“Ok,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “What’s the deal? Allergic to books? Forgot how to read? You’re trying drive me insane?”   
“I told you I can’t concentrate,” said Peter, miserable and not trying to hide it. He had no idea how long he’d been locked in his bedroom, but it was too long. “Just let me take an F. English is a shit subject anyway.” 

“Mmmhmm, that’s just what the world needs, more illiterate idiots, as if it isn’t bad enough they’re running our government and ruining society.” 

“I think we’re safe then, Mr. Stark. I have no interest in politics.” 

That, at least, got a laugh. “Come on, kid. You’re usually so annoyingly responsible when with school stuff. What gives?” 

Peter sat up, used his elbows as props, and stared at Mr. Stark. He didn’t know how many times he would have to answer this same exact question, but he hoped this was the last time. 

“I can’t concentrate,” said Peter. “I have to read the same sentence over and over again, and I can never make it past the first page.” 

“Oh…. So when you say you can’t concentrate you actually mean you can’t – “

“-yes.” 

“Huh.” He had a far-off expression on his face, and Peter hoped he was feeling guilty about the hours of torment he just put him through. “I guess I was confusing you with a normal teenager.” 

Peter rolled his eyes and collapsed back down on the bed. “Can I leave my room now?” 

“No,” said Mr. Stark. “You still have to get this done, but I will help you.” 

He picked up the dreaded book off the floor and sat down next to Peter by the headboard. He handed him the book, and Peter took it. What choice did he have? Zero. Less now that Mr. Stark appeared to in it for the long haul, ready to sit on his bed with him until his homework was complete. 

“Read it out loud. We’ll alternate each chapter, and you can jot notes down when it’s my turn reading,” he said, then checked his watch. “If we get through four chapters tonight, we should be able to get that essay done by tomorrow evening, and still have all of Sunday just like normal.” 

Peter eyed him, skeptical that this plan would work, but four chapters later, he had a decent start to an essay and a firm grasp of what was happening in the book. It wasn’t so bad. Not as bad as Peter made it out to be in his head, at least. 

The next day went even smoother. It was a lot easier to focus on the sound of his own voice, and Mr. Stark’s, then if the words were just floating around inside his head, fighting for space with the other million thoughts he had at any given time. 

They knocked it out, faster than expected, and by the end of the day Saturday, the living area in his bedroom was filled with empty milkshake cups and cheeseburger wrappers, and one completed essay, printed on the best paper and clasped into the most expensive looking report cover Peter had ever seen.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” said Peter, shoving his homework into his bookbag. “Now we can please go outside?” 

Peter didn’t wait for an answer. He catapulted himself out of his bedroom and into the hallway, free, and happy that he wouldn’t have an F bringing down his GPA, even if had gone through literal torture to get it. 

A few weeks later, when he got his paper back and graded with a miracle one hundred written across the top, he admitted, only to himself, of course, that it’d all been worth it.


End file.
